Noble Intentions

CHAPTER NINE

The Black Earl, that coldhearted, callous man who was rumored to have strangled, shot, and stabbed his wife to death (depending on with whom you spoke), the man who was well known to have a temper of astronomical proportions, the man who had, over the course of just a few years, challenged four men to duels (and subsequently put a lead ball into the arm of all but one), the man whose name was used by wise mamas to scare their silly daughters into looking at more appropriate suitors, sat back against the cushions of his well-sprung carriage and chuckled.

He felt light-headed, giddy almost. His arm tightened around his wife, snuggled up against his side, her head resting against his shoulder, her warmth wrapping him in a cocoon of happiness. She hadn’t betrayed him, he gloated to himself as he breathed in the perfume that was Gillian. He had been right in judging her a suitable mate. She was everything he could possibly want in a woman — intelligent, loving, kindhearted, spirited — and she was his and his alone. She’d never give herself to any other man.

Noble felt a wellspring of happiness bubble up from the light that glowed strongly within him and rejoiced at its appearance. Gone were the layers of ice that had held him in their frigid grip for so many years. Gone were the dark corners of his soul that harbored doubts and suspicion and distrust — her light had vanquished them. Gone was the crippling pain of loneliness that he had not known held him tight in its misanthropic embrace until she had destroyed that too.

Noble felt freer than he had since he was a young man. He was free to glory in all the emotions other men had: love, happiness, and joy. For the first time since he had achieved manhood, Noble purposely let the reins of control slip from his fingers and wallowed in the delightful feeling such an action brought with it. He kissed the top of Gillian’s head while he mused that no more would he live by the mandates of order and rigid structure. He and Gillian and Nick would live in happy, glorious chaos, and he’d enjoy every damned minute of it.

He looked down at the cause of all his joy. She was sleeping, her face buried in his neck, her sweet, gentle breath feathering his skin with the softness of down. Good. She’d need her sleep. He had plans to honor this new happiness, and she’d need her strength to celebrate fully with him. He would have rubbed his hands together with glee but for his armful of wife. He contented himself with planning his celebration.

He would introduce her to all the ways of loving, all of the positions he knew, and probably a few he made up on the spot. He was feeling very inventive at the moment.

He would begin by loving her from the tip of her elegant toes to the top of that fiery crown, paying tribute to all the parts in between. He would kiss his way up those long legs, pause for a moment at the gates of heaven, then continue up over her gently rounded belly to those delicious twin peaks of pleasure. After paying his respects there, he would pause only long enough to make sure each graceful arm received its due attention, then move up to plunder that sweet mouth until she moaned and arched up against him.

Yes, yes, it was a good plan. First he’d start with mapping her terrain, then he’d be the stallion to her mare, and then, once she had caught her breath again, he’d let her ride him. He had planned on saving the activities they’d shared earlier in Lady Gayfield’s bedchamber for another time, but that couldn’t be helped. No, there was still much he could show her, but slowly, so as not to shock her. He reminded himself that she was new to the intimacies of the bedchamber, and with reluctance scratched off the list some of the more athletic variations. Simple was best. First the homage to her sweet, lush body, then stallion and mare, then he’d let her ride him, and then a long, long episode with them both on their sides, legs twined together, bodies moving in that delicious rhythm…perhaps that ought to move up on the list. First homage, then stallion and mare, then a sweet loving facing each other on their sides, followed by…

“My lord?”

Noble shook the images from his head with difficulty.

“What is it?”

A footman stood at the opened door of the carriage.

“My lord, do you wish to exit the carriage?”

Noble looked closer. It was Dickon, his footman. They were home.

“Ah, yes, indeed.” Home. What a sweet word. Home and Gillian. Gillian at home. Gillian at home, in his bed.

“My lord?”

“One moment. Her ladyship is resting.”

He waited until Dickon stepped away from the door, then kissed Gillian awake.

“Come, my dear, you are tired and need your rest.”

“I’m not really that tired.” Gillian yawned. Noble smiled to himself. She would be tired, oh yes, very, very tired indeed by the time he was through celebrating with her.

He helped her down the steps of the carriage and, giving into a carefree, wild impulse, swept her up into his arms.

“Noble! What on earth are you doing? I’m quite capable of walking, I assure you,” Gillian protested, blushing at his actions in front of the servants and a passing carriage.

He smiled down at her and started for the three steps leading up to the front door when a loud noise shattered the calm of the evening. A sharp explosion echoed off the side of the house, followed immediately by the wild clatter of hooves as a small passing carriage suddenly raced away from them, the horses whipped to a gallop.

“What…”

Noble’s mind snapped into sharp focus. He set down Gillian and hastily conducted a check of her person, then turned to instruct the coachman to follow the carriage from which the shots had been fired, but it was too late. Tremayne was on the ground, coming toward them, having recognized the sound for what it was.

“Noble, what was that? Surely not a rifle shot.”

“Pistol, my dear,” he said grimly, and waved Tremayne back to the carriage, ignoring the burning in his upper arm. “Follow him, you fool! Are you armed?”

“Aye, m’lord,” Tremayne nodded and, leaping back into Noble’s carriage, snatched the reins from the groom and set off after the culprits.

“Noble, you’ve been shot!”

His arms were suddenly full of wife, her hands checking over him as he had done moments before to her. “I think it’s just your arm. Oh, my dear sweet Noble, let me help you in. Crouch! Crouch, send someone for a doctor. Dickon, help his lordship up the stairs. Charles, tell the kitchen I will need plenty of hot water. Good lord, Noble, put me down this instant, you’ve been shot and you shouldn’t be straining your wound!”

Noble ignored her orders and carried her up the stairs to her bedchamber, then deposited her on the chaise. “It’s not serious, madam. Tremayne will take care of it for me. Now have your bath and I shall see you as soon as this incident has been dealt with.”

Gillian stared in surprise as her husband stalked out of the room as if nothing untoward had occurred, but soon rallied her wits enough to supervise Tremayne Three and Crouch in the care of Noble’s wound. She was pleased to see that it was minor, just barely penetrating the outer edge of his arm.

“Perhaps you should have a nip, first, my lord,” Tremayne suggested as he held the bottle of brandy preparatory to splashing the contents over the wound.

“Oh, that’s an excellent suggestion, Three,” Gillian agreed.

“No, I don’t need it,” Noble said, narrowing his eyes as his wife leaned over him to gaze at the wound. He had a clear view of her warm, enticing cleavage. He didn’t need brandy. All he needed was her.

“Don’t be foolish, Noble. It’s bound to sting. Go ahead and sluice your gob.”

Noble’s head snapped back in disbelief. He looked closely at Gillian for a moment, then raised a sardonic brow at Crouch.

“Go ahead, m’lord, ’ave yerself a line of the old author,” Crouch said with a weak smile, handing him a dram of brandy. Noble grimaced, muttered something about having a word with Crouch at a later date, and tossed back the fiery liquid.

By the time his wound had been tended to, Gillian felt the situation was well enough in hand for her to have the bath she’d ordered earlier. What had gotten into her Lord of Passion? His actions at the Gayfields’ house, while appreciated and enjoyed despite the unusual circumstances, were bewildering. When Noble had pinned her up against the wall in Lady Gayfield’s bedchamber the last thing she’d been expecting was for him to use that very same wall in a manner that still made her knees weak at the memory. No, she had not expected that; she’d expected Noble to rant and rave about her meeting with Lord Carlisle, and instead he had shared himself with her, giving her pleasure where she had been sure he would be cold and withdrawn.

She sighed over the confusing man she had married and scrubbed at her palms with a piece of pumice. Happily, the blue was almost gone, but it was a reminder of just how her heedless, foolish actions drove Noble to distraction. She sighed again, this time out of sympathy with him. Poor man; first his organs were out of humor and now an unknown villain had shot him. A frown marred her smooth brow for a moment as she contemplated how she could ease his pain, then disappeared as she remembered the fascinating pamphlet she had forced the man to sell her earlier. It was the very thing!

Gillian padded around the room barefoot, gathering the items she would need; then, with her arms full of bottles and pots, she went through the connecting door into Noble’s room.

She could hear his voice rumbling in his dressing room. Setting down her collection of oils and unguents, she stuck her head into the adjoining room.

“Did Tremayne Two catch up with the carriage?”

Noble turned toward her voice, his face black with anger. He stared at her for a moment, his gaze heating her even through her dressing gown. His expression cleared as the anger faded. “No, he did not. The other carriage had too much of an advantage.”

“That’s a shame. Will you be long?”

A curious spasm of emotion flashed across his face as he cleared his throat. “Not long, no.”

Gillian beamed at him. “Excellent. I have a little procedure I’d like to try on you.”

Noble seemed to be having some difficulty swallowing. His hands clenched and unclenched as he cleared his throat again. “I’m sure it will be most appreciated.”

Gillian nodded and withdrew back into his bedchamber. She sat on the bed and reached for the pamphlet, then looked up as Noble shot through the door. He was across the room, his dressing gown removed en route, before her fingers could close around the pamphlet.

“Noble!” she shrieked as he pulled her into a passionate embrace. “My lord, your arm…”

“The merest of flesh wounds, I assure you, my darling,” he said, his lips caressing her temples.

She looked down at that part of him that was pressing against her. “Husband, we couldn’t possibly. You have been injured.”

Noble murmured hot, passionate words in her ear, sending delightful little shivers of pleasure rippling down her spine and forming a hot pool at the very center of her womanhood.

“I have…your organs…celestial…Oils of Araby, Noble…stimulation…”

“Oh, yes, my love, it’s very stimulating. Allow me to show you how very stimulating it can be.”

Gillian, with an effort she didn’t think possible, tore herself from her husband’s arms and seductive, mesmerizing mouth.

“You are wounded, Noble. I cannot allow you to endanger your life by harming that wound.”

Noble smiled at her, a smile that started fires all over her body. God’s elbows, how was she to maintain any sort of control over the situation if her Lord of Smoldering Eyes was going to look at her with an obvious hunger that only she could feed?

She reached behind her and grabbing her pamphlet, holding it in front of his face.

“The Celestial Stimulation of the Organs, Noble. I thought we might, given the circumstances of your injury, use the special Oils of Araby and balmy, ethereal essences to restore your elasticity and good health.”

Noble’s smile increased in intensity, fanning the fire in Gillian’s body into a raging inferno. She reminded herself sternly that he was hurt and knew not what he was doing, what with his being out of his head with pain, and it was up to her to ensure that he did no further damage to himself.

She stepped away from him and waved the pamphlet toward the bed. “If you would lie down, husband, I will prepare the essences. They have to be warmed slightly, so as not to cause a shock to your system when they are administered. Once I have massaged the essences into your flesh, I am to apply the Oils of Araby to ensure that the humors are in balance. At which point—” Gillian consulted the pamphlet. She couldn’t meet that look in his eyes without throwing herself on him. Shameful, that’s what she was, wanton and shameful to think of engaging in such pleasurable activities while her husband was suffering so grievously. “At which point, I am to pay particular attention to those…er…parts of you so as to regain youth and vigor to your bodily endowments.”

Noble suddenly looked interested and reached for the pamphlet. “Bodily endowments? You must pay particular attention to my bodily endowments? It says so?”

“Yes, that is part of the treatment. It’s supposed to purify your blood if I conduct upon your…parts…those exercises shown in the back of the pamphlet.”

“ ‘Imperial Exercises of Eros,’ ” Noble mumbled as he read the title, then turned the page. Gillian thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his head.

She fidgeted with the opening of her dressing gown. “It might be beyond your strength—”

Her words were cut off as Noble, with a move too swift for her eyes to follow, sent her dressing gown flying in one direction while she was tossed in the other, landing in the middle of his bed. He followed directly behind her, pinning her on the bed and holding the pamphlet in front of her.

“This one,” he said hoarsely. Gillian hoped the trauma of his wounding hadn’t caused an illness in his throat. “You’ll do this one first, followed by the next one, and if I survive that, all the rest of the Imperial-bloody-Exercises of Eros.”

She looked at the page he was waving in front of her. “Are you sure you are up to that? Your wound—”

“Purifying,” he gasped, staring at her breasts, sending a fevered wave of desire washing over her. “My blood needs purifying. This minute.”

Gillian pushed him gently onto his back and reached across his heaving broad chest for the Oils of Araby. “Well, if you are certain that you are up to it…”

“Noble?”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaarg!”

“Noble, I’m not sure you are supposed to be having that reaction.”

“Gaar.”

“Yes, I understand you enjoy this exercise, but the pamphlet does not indicate that you should be panting at this point.”

“Urrrrrr.”

“Noble, my darling, we’re only to the second Imperial Exercise of Eros. How do you expect me to go through all twelve if you are going to expend all of your blood-purifying energies on writhing about in that manner and moaning?”

“Eeeeeeeerm!”

“Oh, I beg your pardon; my hand slipped off your bodily endowment. My, those Oils of Araby certainly do heat up upon application, do they not?”

“Uuuuuuuung.”

“One moment, my darling, I’m just reading the instructions for the third exercise. Let me see…apply the ethereal essences to the wellspring of vigor and manliness. I wonder where that is? Just here, do you think?”

“Nnnnnnnnaaaang!”

“Oh, my, yes, that certainly would appear to be a wellspring of vigor and manliness. Do you think you would have the same reaction if I touched you there again?”

“Nnnnnnnnaaaang!”

“Amazing! Once more?”

“Nnnnnnnnaaaang!”

“That’s absolutely fascinating. Noble, I wish you could open your eyes long enough to see this. I had no idea it was physically possible. You have tremendous muscle control.”

“Gillian.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Take me inside of you. Now.”

Gillian looked down at her panting husband. His chest, lightly sheened with perspiration from the effort of purifying his blood, was heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, while his hands were compulsively clutching large quantities of the bedding. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ride me.”

“Ride you?”

Noble opened his eyes just long enough to place both hands on Gillian’s hips and hoist her over him. “Ride me.”

Gillian looked down. “But you are covered in Oils of Araby and ethereal essences. I would hate for them to go to waste.”

He moved her back and forth across his oiled, essenced bodily endowment. She felt so good, he almost spilled his seed right then and there. He gritted his teeth against the building rush of energy. Gillian’s eyes darkened as she picked up the rhythm. “Perhaps it might benefit the purifying process if I were to…ah…ease you.”

He lifted her up slightly and tensed his entire body as she slowly sank down upon him, her heat enveloping him with a pleasure that was so intense it was almost pain. As she slid downward on him, slowly, consuming him inch by painful inch, Noble shed the last remnants of control and thrust his hips upward, joining himself completely with her body and her soul. His spirit merged with hers and soared higher and higher until he thought he would shatter into a million bright, glittering pieces. At the highest point he shouted her name, pouring out the emotions of his newly opened heart, singing her praises and whispering words of love and joy.

He had left her behind on his journey to heaven, but still he felt her lips on his face, on his cheeks and eyes. Odd how comforting such a simple gesture was. He felt consumed by a strange lethargy that soon melted into something more elemental when Gillian shifted on top of him.

He opened his eyes and gazed into the bright, shining green eyes of the woman seated astride him. “My dear, let me tell you about a list I made earlier this evening. I believe it will go a long way in making up for my…er…appalling lack of manners of a moment ago.”

Gillian smiled back at him and wriggled slightly. A streak of fire shot from his groin out to all points of his body.

“I will need your Oils of Araby.”

A sudden line appeared between her eyes.

He smiled at her frown. “You look tired, my dear. I believe your blood could use purifying as well.”